At the same moment two female figures reached the western end of the walk which ran along the top of the long wall bordering the river side of the castle, at right angles to the gate-house.
One of them, a damsel of inquisitive disposition, hearing the twang of the cross-bow, sprang on to the parapet to see what was happening. From the angle she could look down upon the level space outside the gate.
"What see you, Beatrice, that you watch so closely?" inquired a girl's voice from the wall beneath the former's vantage-ground.
"My lady," exclaimed Beatrice Mertoun, "the archer hath struck some knight below, for I see the townsfolk carrying off a wounded man clad in armour. His helmet hath rolled from his head. What curly hair! How pale he looks, alas, poor youth! Ah, I see my lord pointing to the helmet. There goes a man from the wicket-gate. He has picked it up; he is bringing it in. Marry, how the burghers shrank back when he appeared! Methought they were like to drop the wounded man. But no; they have borne him off."
"I wot not what this may mean," said Lady Aliva; for she was the speaker from below. "There is no attack on the castle? There come no more armed men?"
"Nay, none but the wounded one," replied Beatrice. "But stay, my lady; I will to the gate-house. Perchance I may learn somewhat."
Impelled by curiosity, the girl made her way down from the wall, and quickly crossed the yard.
Fulke, when the helmet had been brought him, glanced at it and then threw it contemptuously on one side. Then, when the burghers carrying Ralph had disappeared into a neighbouring house, he turned away and went to another part of the castle.
No sooner had he vanished than Beatrice Mertoun, standing below, called up in her most bewitching tones to the archer who had shot the quarrel.
"Ho, Hubert--Hubert of Provence! Wilt do me a favour?"